The Morning That Began in Shadows
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the heaviness in my chest. The night had been restless – coughs breaking my sleep, leaving me foggy and worn out. Most people would have chosen to rest a little longer, to delay the alarm, to give in. But something inside nudged me forward. Training was waiting, and I had promised myself I would show up.
The air was cool when I stepped outside, the kind of cool that hints at storms lurking beyond the horizon. I mounted my bike and pedaled toward the familiar route across Saigon Bridge. The world was still waking up, the city stretching out of its own dreams. For a moment, it felt peaceful, like a gentle pause before the day’s chaos.
Then came the rain.
At first, it was a fine drizzle, almost playful, kissing my skin with freshness. “This is amazing,” I thought. “I love this.” But within minutes, the sky unleashed itself. Sheets of water poured down, carried by fierce gusts of wind, so thick and white that I could barely see through my glasses. The road shimmered and disappeared beneath swirling puddles, as though the bridge had become a river of its own.
Fighting to Hold the Cadence
My training today demanded precision: a cadence (the number of times a rider completes a full pedal revolution in one minute) of 95 to 100, steady, unbroken. Even as the rain turned brutal, I tried to hold on to it. My legs pumped against resistance, rhythm clashing with chaos. Each turn of the pedal was like a vow: keep going, keep steady, don’t give in.
And yet, there was a part of me laughing at the absurdity of it all. Who rides through storms when the streets are flooding? Who keeps counting cadence when visibility is near zero? Still, I pressed forward, soaked through, the storm daring me to stop.
I thought of stopping. For a split second, it was tempting. But then I realized: this isn’t about finishing a distance, it’s about how I show up. It’s about who I choose to be when things “suck.”
And in that realization, oddly enough, I felt happy.
Conversations in the Rain
The ride back home from the bridge was five kilometers, but it felt like a dialogue with myself.
“This sucks,” I muttered as the rain hammered down.
“Yes,” I answered silently, “but isn’t it also kind of beautiful?”
The streets glistened like molten silver. Cars sent waves of water splashing. Somewhere in the distance, thunder grumbled. I reminded myself that I had planned to clean my bike yesterday, but now, thanks to nature’s fury, it was being washed more thoroughly than I ever could. I smiled at the thought.
It was a strange mix: irritation and gratitude dancing together. Every drop of water seemed to whisper, this is what you’re made of.
The Storm’s Gift
By the time I reached home, drenched from head to toe, I couldn’t stop smiling. My clothes clung heavy, my shoes squelched with each step, but joy bubbled up inside me. I peeled everything off, jumped into a warm shower, and let the hot water chase away the cold.
When I wrapped myself in dry clothes, something as simple as fabric against skin felt like luxury. I sat down with a steaming cup of tea and breakfast, safe in my dry home while the storm still raged outside. Gratitude filled every corner of me. “I’m so glad for this warmth,” I thought. “I’m so glad I’m here.”
Isn’t it wild how the smallest comforts shine brightest after hardship? Warm tea tastes richer after the cold. Dry clothes feel softer after being drenched. Home feels safer after braving the storm.
The Lesson Hidden in the Rain
This morning became more than just another training session. It was proof that the hard things – the messy, uncomfortable, frustrating things, are what make us proud of ourselves.
No coach was there to clap me on the back. No cheering crowd waited at the finish. The only recognition came from within, from the quiet voice that said, you did it, you showed up. And honestly, that’s the kind of pride that can never be taken away.
Storms strip us bare, revealing who we really are when comfort is gone. For me, the storm revealed a stubborn gratitude, a willingness to laugh at misery, and a deep respect for the strength that grows in suffering.
Building Character
This wasn’t the first time I’d faced rain during training, and it won’t be the last. Each time, I feel my character being carved sharper. It’s like the storm is both enemy and teacher, pressing me to discover resilience I didn’t know I had.
For students, athletes, or anyone chasing something meaningful – this is what matters. Life won’t always pat you on the back. Sometimes, you’ll be your only cheerleader. Sometimes, the reward is simply knowing you didn’t give up when it would’ve been easier to stop.
So go into the storm. Let it soak you, blind you, challenge you. And when you come through, you’ll realize you’ve become stronger than you were before.